Wolfhound
by SeveRemus
Summary: Irrational AU story based in part on all the Reese-werewolf stories as well as Mrs.JohnReese's suggested plotbunny about how Finch would react if Reese brought home a puppy. I have no idea where I'm going with this, so the going may be slow. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

Wolfhound

* * *

A/N: Irrational AU story based in part on all the Reese-werewolf stories as well as Mrs. John Reese's suggested plotbunny about how Finch would react if Reese brought home a puppy. I have no idea where I'm going with this, so the going may be slow.

* * *

Finch approached the library with his usual caution-masked-in-nonchalance. He was using the tunnel entrance today because it had been selected by the randomizer program on his cell phone – he tried to avoid forming any behavioral patterns, since predictability made it that much easier for one's enemies to catch one. Or, in his case, overly curious employees as well; but he had long since ceased to care about Reese's probing into his personal life. The fact that the man had not taken advantage of Finch's vulnerable state of mind when he had been under the influence of MDMA spoke volumes: Reese was curious, but not unscrupulous. And despite Finch's natural distrust of humanity, he was willing to admit that he had grown to trust Reese.

He had hung up with Reese the previous night after monitoring that he had successfully "gift-wrapped" a Haitian gang-banger for the police. The young man, who was barely eighteen years old, had already murdered two Puerto Rican boys in a rival gang, with his sights set on taking out most if not all of their leadership. Reese and Finch were able to stop his killing spree and ensure that the NYPD had enough evidence to convict him for the first two. All in all, it had been a smooth and relatively easy job.

As Finch neared the underground entrance, he caught a glimpse of movement ahead of him and froze. Occasionally he had found vagrants – some desperate or drunk homeless person – taking shelter from the elements in the tunnel, but today was a nice day due to the unseasonably early onset of spring, so it was hard to imagine why anyone would prefer the darkness, dampness, and cold of the tunnel to a park bench. Unless, of course, they had a more nefarious reason for hiding here...

Finch tensed and wished, not for the first time, that he had some of Reese's skill in self-defense. _"Just poke him in the eye, poke him in the eye..."_ he repeated to himself, readying a finger as he cautiously stepped closer to the door. The shadow in the recessed entrance shifted, making him realize that whoever it was must be crouched down on the ground.

"W-Who is it?" Finch demanded, in a much smaller voice than he had hoped. At least it was not quite as shaky as he felt.

"Woof!" came a low, unmistakable bark. Finch almost laughed in surprise and relief. No doubt it was a stray dog, sniffing its way through the passage in hopes of finding something edible.

"There's nothing to eat here," he said, drawing nearer and waving his hand at the mongrel. "Go on, find some dumpster to scavenge." The shadow arose and Finch realized that the dog was much larger than he had originally thought – it stood at least three feet tall and (from what he could see of it in the darkness) looked to be a cross between a Greyhound and a Great Dane, with shaggy fur sticking out at all angles along its body.

"Go on, shoo!" he repeated, waving his briefcase in the futile hope that it might scare off the huge creature; the dog merely stood there, wagging its tail, and Finch was left with the sinking realization that he could not move the dog away from the door unless the dog itself chose to move. It was simply too big to be picked up – and if it decided to bite him, who knew what sort of diseases it might be carrying? Although it did seem friendly enough...

"Good doggie... Nice doggie," he said with a forced smile, hoping the conciliatory tone might help persuade the beast. "Go on, there's nothing of interest here... Wouldn't you rather run around outside? Over at the park or something?"

The dog looked at him and cocked its head, as if considering the suggestion, then stepped closer to Finch – at which Finch, instinctively, took a step back. The creature's size alone made it intimidating; Finch was quite sure that it could put its paws on his shoulders very easily if it wanted to.

"N-Nice doggie," he stammered, holding his briefcase in front of him since it was the only means of protection he had.

Then the dog turned around and bent its head down to pick something up from the doorstep. Thinking that it was probably a leftover bit of food the dog had found, Finch was shocked when the dog turned back to him again with a soft whine, as though offering it to him. The edge of the object, where it protruded from the dog's mouth, was black and somewhat flat, but it was hard to see what exactly it was.

"What do you have there?" Finch asked, still keeping his voice mellow. "Did you find something you like? Is that a... a bone, or a toy? Do you want me to throw it?"

This was answered by another whine, and the dog took another step towards him, very slowly. Reining in his first impulse to step back again, Finch extended one hand – carefully, lest the dog take it as a threatening gesture – and held it open. The dog dropped the object (slightly damp from being in its mouth) onto Finch's hand and sat down, looking at him with an expectant expression.

"Why... it's a wallet," Finch said in surprise. "Did you find this somewhere? I wonder..."

Opening it up to check the ID, Finch froze and felt himself go numb. The driver's license showed a picture of Reese, with one of the false identities that Finch himself had set up for him.

"Wh-Where... How..." he began, shocked, then remembered that it was useless to ask the dog. "Oh, dear... Oh, dear. This is not good. Something's happened to John... Maybe he found a way to make the dog bring me this... I need to find him – track his cell phone..."

Taking a bracing breath, Finch stopped his murmuring to look straight at the dog. "I need you to move over so I can get in. I have to figure out where John is, and help him if he's in trouble," he said in a no-nonsense voice. To his surprise, the dog moved out of the way as if it could actually understand him. "Well... thank you," Finch told it, then pulled out the passkey for the door. He was startled, however, when the dog squeezed past him the moment the door was open.

"Hey, wait! You... You can't go in there," he called after it in vain. But the dog had already bounded down the hallway and disappeared. "Where on earth did John find that dog?" he muttered to himself. "And how did he manage to train it to come here? Maybe it's _his_ dog – maybe he's been keeping it somewhere, training it to help him in case of emergencies. It's certainly large enough to be a guard dog... or an attack dog, if necessary..."

The thought was not very pleasant, but as the creature had made no threatening overtures to him (yet), Finch turned his thoughts to more important matters, such as finding out what had happened to Reese. He was already running through the search protocols for Reese's cell phone in his mind as he limped into the office, but was horrified to see the dog there, its paws on the desk and its nose pressed against the keyboard.

"Hey! Stop that! Get down from there," Finch shouted, but the dog only looked at him with its deep, soulful eyes before pushing its nose back onto the keyboard. Finch huffed and puffed as he hurried up, determined to haul the beast off the table by force if necessary, but what he saw on the monitor there made him drop his briefcase and gape.

There, on the otherwise blank screen, were typed the words: IOM RWEESDE HE;LP FOINCJH


	2. Chapter 2

Wolfhound

* * *

A/N: My tiny little homage to Katica Locke's "Water Spots" included.

* * *

Finch sat down abruptly in his chair, still staring at the screen. The dog had turned to look at him, studying him with its dark blue eyes half-hidden under its bushy eyebrows. For a long moment, Finch's mind was blank. The only thing running through it was the phrase – cleaned up of the extraneous keys hit by mistake – which the dog had apparently typed: "I'm Reese Help Finch". Seeing that he was incapable of a response, the dog turned back to the keyboard.

L;AST NMOP NOP NUIMBERT, it laboriously typed, using its nose (which was rather too large for the task) to pluck out each letter and checking its results on the screen, AUNJT6 VOPOPDOPO VOODFOO PRIOEWSTESSD

"Are you telling me," Finch began, his mind finally beginning to work again, "that the last number's aunt is a Voodoo priestess? That she was the one who... who... did _this_ to you?"

The dog barked and nodded, wagging its long tail with such enthusiasm that it beat against the wastebasket like a drum. Finch stared long and hard into its eyes, trying to come to grips with the reality presented before him.

"So you... you're really... John?"

The dog walked over and lowered its head onto Finch's knee, looking up at him with mournful eyes. Finch noted the shaggy salt-and-pepper hair; the lean, tall, muscular build; and the quiet aura of strength surrounding the animal.

"I suppose, if I were to picture you as a dog... you _would_ look something like this," Finch admitted. "It defies science and biology and – hell! – every shred of logic that I've ever possessed, but... I can't imagine anyone – not even Mr. Reese – training a dog to type coherent sentences..." Thinking for a moment, Finch stood up purposefully and shuffled into the cubbyhole where he kept spare computer parts. "Hang on just a minute. I think I can set up a better keyboard for you. The trick is to give you enough space for your nose around each key..."

For the next hour or so, Finch worked on taking apart three keyboards, reassembling them so that each key was surrounded by a blank area and lining them up alphabetically across all three sets. Reese (the dog) watched him with alternating curiosity and boredom, then curled up at his feet for a short nap. But when Finch had finished testing the keys to see that they were accurately represented on the computer, Reese became alert again and eager to use them.

THANKS. MUCH BETTER, he nose-typed. LAST NO,S AUNT IN VOODOO. FOUND ME AND THREW SOME LIQUID ON ME. HURT LIKE HELL. WOKE UP LIKE THIS. DAMN INCONVENIENT.

"Now _there's_ an understatement," Finch agreed. "What should we do to reverse it?"

WASH ME MAYBE, Reese input, using a paw as well as his nose to speed up the process.

"That makes sense... if we could get whatever liquid off of you... I suppose it's worth a try."

There was a shower in the downstairs employee bathroom – a haz-mat requirement in case someone came into contact with caustic chemicals when preserving old books or leather – which Finch had never used before. His initial turn of the knob only produced several popping sounds that rumbled through the pipes like small explosions, but after a while they heard the water coming through the long-unused system. As it neared, Reese suddenly grabbed Finch's trouser leg with his mouth and tugged, pulling him back away from the shower – and just in time, as a filthy surge of water sprayed out, spattering the tiles with the accumulated dust and rust of a decade.

"Thank you," Finch managed, still a little off-balance but rolling up his sleeves in preparation for the task. Once the water had cleared out, he set it to a comfortable temperature and opened the lid of a commercial-sized jug of liquid hand soap. Reese stepped into the shower and turned around in circles, allowing the water to pour over every inch of him, plastering his wiry fur against his body.

"Hmm... no luck so far," Finch observed, then squeezed a generous dollop of the soap onto his palm. Reese stood stock-still as Finch lathered him up, scratching behind his ears for good measure (eliciting a low groan of pleasure from Reese) and making sure that he was scrubbed down to the tip of every paw and even his tail. By the time Finch was satisfied, he had used more than half of the jug of soap.

"Now, let's see if that does the trick," he said before turning on the water again. This time there was no belching of the pipes as the water came through, and Reese turned his face into the stream, then each paw, trying to get himself rinsed off as thoroughly as possible. But when they both knew that he was as clean as he would ever get (in this form, anyhow), he was still as much a dog as he had been when they started, and now he smelled like wet dog to boot.

"Well. At least you're clean," Finch said, disappointed but trying hard not to show it. "It was a long shot, Mr. Reese... We don't know anything about Voodoo. Once we get you dried off, I'll research it on the web."

Reese twitched as he waited patiently for Finch to unfold the towel, then shook himself from stem to stern in a very dog-like fashion. Finch's glasses were splattered with droplets since he hadn't anticipated Reese's shake, and the bottom halves of his trousers were also caught in the spray.

"I suppose you couldn't just let me towel you off, could you?" Finch demanded. Reese whined but stood still as Finch rubbed him dry, then led the way back to the office. When Finch entered after him, polishing his glasses with his handkerchief, he found that Reese had already typed in his reply: SORRY, REFLEX.

"Apology accepted," Finch stated, his expression softening. "I suppose it's not the most comfortable thing for you, either."

CAN SMELL LIKE DOG THO, Reese responded. CAN TRACK BY SCENT NOW.

"Well. It's good to know that there are _some_ advantages to your condition."

NO GUNS. BAD.

"That depends on your point of view... but it does put us in a somewhat awkward position should another Number come up..."

CANT BLEND IN EITHER.

"Yes, I suppose you _would_ stand out like a sore thumb, even in a crowd... Which brings me to a rather... touchy subject," Finch said, hesitating. "You'll need to wear a collar so you aren't taken by Animal Control – or, if you are, so I can claim you. And you'll have to be tied to a leash..."

The howl that arose from his canine throat was obviously speaking of pain, but also of resignation.

"I promise I won't pull on the leash – unless, of course, you happen to do something completely un-dog-like," Finch assured him. "I can probably come up with some papers to show that you're my service dog, too... Let's say I'm prone to seizures, and you help me cope with them. That way you should be able to go almost everywhere with me."

Finch started searching for the necessary documents to forge, as well as any pertinent information on Voodoo, on his own monitor. Reese plunked out another message in the meantime.

GLAD YOURE TAKING IT ALL IN STRIDE.

Finch glanced at it, then sighed and turned his full attention to Reese.

"It's not like I have much choice, do I?" he asked rhetorically. "I believe Sherlock Holmes said it best: 'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.' When I have you staring me in the face – a dog that types and communicates with the knowledge privy only to Mr. Reese – I have to accept that, however improbable, you must be him."

Reese wagged his tail as he approached Finch's chair, then gently licked one of his hands where it was dangling from the armrest. Finch swallowed at the sudden sensation before turning to his computer again.

"Just please don't start marking your territory like a dog, Mr. Reese," he said as dryly as he could. Reese merely sat there watching him, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted, but Finch could almost swear that Reese's dog-face was smirking at him.


	3. Chapter 3

Wolfhound

* * *

The next order of business – for Finch, at least – was to locate Reese's cell phone and not only deactivate it but also wipe its memory clean in case it was discovered by someone. Reese had typed an apologetic "COULDNT CARRY BOTH IN MOUTH" in answer to Finch's verbal query, and Finch found it near the scene where Reese had left the last Number kneecapped and bound for the police.

"She must have caught up to you right after you had... taken care of him," Finch murmured. "I wonder... Given that she was able to do this bit of... amazing transfiguration, perhaps she has the equivalent of a crystal ball that tells her the future, or at least alerted her to her nephew's trouble... It would be difficult for us to approach her again if she's capable of that sort of... clairvoyance."

DANGEROUS, Reese typed. CRAZY EYES. ALMOST, he hesitated, NOT HUMAN.

"How so?" Finch asked, his brows furrowing.

LIKE SHE WAS POSSESED, Reese explained. I DONT SCARE EASILY, BUT SHE SCARED ME.

"Hm... yes. We'll have to proceed with extreme caution," Finch agreed. "Meanwhile, I've made sure that any calls to your number will be rerouted to my cell, so if either detectives try to get a hold of you, at least we'll know. I'll have to tell them that you're... indisposed."

"Awrf," Reese huffed morosely.

"I suppose I should locate the nearest pet store to get you the... necessary _accouterments_," Finch also sighed. "I think there's one not far from here... Yes, there it is." He tapped the map on the screen, then stood up to put on his jacket. "You'll need a collar, with a tag for contact information, and a long leash... I know they have those subcutaneous chips available, but I won't subject you to that indignity, at least. Would you like a chew toy of some sort? I don't mean to be patronizing, Mr. Reese, but in your current condition... you may want something to keep your teeth sharp."

GOING WITH YOU, Reese answered.

"What? I can't take you out without a leash or anything," Finch pointed out. "If there are any Animal Control officers around, they _will_ notice you. And I don't dare try to bribe them to look the other way."

DO YOU KNOW MY COLLAR SIZE, Reese typed, then turned to give Finch The Look.

"No... I suppose not. Although I do believe they're adjustable," Finch replied. Reese's expression did not change. "Oh, all right. I'll just have to improvise something so you don't get dragged off to the Pound. Let's see... I wish I had some rope here, but maybe a long extension cord would work..."

In the end, Finch sacrificed several of his skinny neckties to form a lead long enough to tie around Reese's furry neck and give the appearance of a leash and collar.

"At least it's not far," he muttered, more to reassure himself than Reese, who was loping out the door a step ahead of him. Finch chose a rather long way around to get to the store, going through a park in the hopes of blending in with all the other dog walkers. Reese, however, was not a dog to blend in anywhere, it seemed – he was stared at, admired, and petted by the many dog lovers and children at the park, and barked at or sniffed by the other canines. Reese tolerated it all with commendable patience, although Finch's nerves were getting rather frayed.

"Woof," Reese said quietly, tugging Finch over to an empty bench.

"Yes, I suppose... I could use a rest," Finch conceded before sitting down. Reese immediately sat in front of him and placed his head on his knee. "Thank you. I'm hoping that while you seem to be calling a lot of attention to yourself – I know, you can't help it – but I'm hoping that the people who notice _you_ won't find the man _walking_ you quite so memorable."

"Wuff," Reese agreed.

"Excuse me," came a voice from the path, and the two of them looked up to see a distinguished older gentleman with a white moustache approaching them. "May I ask where you acquired this fine specimen of Irish Wolfhound?"

"Ah... certainly," Finch responded, "but I'm afraid it won't be of much help, since he was a Rescue Dog – I found him at a shelter."

"Indeed! Who would give up such a magnificent animal," the man tut-tutted, shaking his head. "Do you mind if I inspect him?"

"Ah, no." Finch looked with some uncertainty at Reese, but he had stood up and turned to sniff the old gentleman – inspecting _him_, as it were – and had started to slowly wag his tail.

"Magnificent... simply magnificent," the man said, running his hands down over Reese's chest, then back along his spine from his withers to his hip, before returning his scrutiny to his face. "Will he bite if I open his mouth?"

"No, I don't think so – he's very even-tempered. But if you'd like him to open his mouth, all you have to do is ask," Finch told him.

"Really? What is the command?"

"No command. He understands human speech quite well."

"Ah! They _are_ an intelligent breed – one of the smartest, in my estimation. Well, my fine fellow, will you open your mouth for me?"

When Reese obligingly did so, the gentleman inspected his teeth and tongue, then rubbed his head affectionately.

"What a fine animal! Some of his lower teeth are slightly out of alignment, but they're all there. All in all, a wonderful example of the breed. Tell me, have you ever considered showing him?"

Finch gaped for a moment before asking, "You mean, in a dog show?"

"Yes. I used to breed Scottish Deerhounds back in my younger days, and I'm still asked to judge at local dog shows on occasion. I think your Wolfhound would do very well in any showing in the area, and that's saying something. Of course, if he's a rescue dog, you wouldn't have any documentation proving he's a thoroughbred, but these days it's relatively easy to have a DNA test done. I think it would be worth the effort – in fact, it would be a shame not to put such a fine example of the breed into the circuit."

"Oh, ah... Well, thank you," Finch stammered in reply. Reese had turned to look at him with a wolfish grin on his doggy face. "I'll definitely consider it. I'll have to do some research on it, of course... see if I can spare the time..."

"Well, if you'd like any information or contacts, just give me a call," the gentleman offered, pulling out his billfold to find a business card. "You'll want a handler who can show him off to the best advantage – I can think of a few who are experienced with larger dogs. I would love to see him run... which reminds me: I should probably have asked this sooner, but may I see his gait? How he walks?"

"Oh, of course," Finch said, meeting Reese's eyes. "John, I want you to walk across to that tree and come back." Reese stood up and grabbed the end of his tether out of Finch's hand before trotting over to the tree, circling it, and coming back at an easy pace.

"Astounding!" the gentleman said, almost gasping for breath. "Did you train him to do that?"

"Ah... not particularly... but I've trained him to fetch things for me around the house, so he's used to commands like that. I'm prone to seizures, you see, and John helps me cope with them. He can even dial 911 if I become unresponsive."

"Magnificent!" was all the gentleman could manage.

"Woof," Reese barked, obviously pleased with himself.

"He really is something," Finch admitted with a wry smile. "The best companion I could have ever hoped for. I don't know what I'd do without him now."

Reese jumped up onto the bench with his front paws and leaned in to lick one side of Finch's face, very thoroughly. Finch winced and tried to back away but could not avoid the large dog tongue.

"Yes, well... I _am_ rather fond of you, John," he said with a grimace, "but I'd prefer it if you'd refrain from doing that in the future."

"Woof," Reese laughed – for there was no mistaking the amusement in his eyes – and put his paws back down on the ground. The old gentleman's eyes had grown as wide as saucers while watching their exchange.

"Magnificent," he murmured. "Truly, man's best friend... Well, it has been my pleasure – a very _great_ pleasure – to meet you both." He shook hands with Finch, patted John's head one last time, and resumed his walk through the park, still muttering to himself in disbelief.

"I think it's high time we found that pet store," Finch stated.

"Woof!" Reese replied with enthusiasm.


	4. Chapter 4

Wolfhound

* * *

The girl feeding the hamsters at the front of the store did a double-take when Finch walked in with Reese.

"Is that a string of ties you have him on?" she asked with a growing grin.

"Uh... yes. We had a... slight accident with his leash," Finch improvised.

Laughing, the girl said, "If he chewed through it when he was left alone, it's probably because he was bored. Dogs need a lot of exercise, especially the big hounds."

"I realize that now," Finch answered ruefully. "We just came through the park for a change of scenery. Where do you have the collars and such?"

The girl not only helped him find the right aisle but also made a few suggestions.

"If he's smart, he'll be able to get out of that kind – you'll probably do better with this brand. My own Sheltie is an escape artist, but this one has worked well for her so far. Which color do you like?"

"Well, let's ask John," Finch replied, holding out three. "What do you think?"

"Um... Sir, dogs are colorblind," the girl reminded as Reese sniffed all of them.

"Oh... right... Well, John, this one's blue, this one's red, and this one's brown. They also have a black one, if you'd prefer."

The girl stared at Finch as though he were not quite right in the head, but Reese pointed at the red one with his nose.

"Very stylish, Mr. Reese – I think it will look nice against your fur," Finch commented, putting the other ones back. "Now we need a lead to attach to it."

Somewhat surprised that the dog had seemed to choose one (despite being colorblind), the girl showed them the various kinds of leads, and Finch selected one that would extend from the handheld reel but had a brake button in case the dog took off running.

"I don't want to cramp your style, John, but if you take off after someone – or something – into the street, I'd like to be able to stop you," Finch explained.

"Woof woof," Reese said in an obliging manner.

"Wow... You'd almost think he understands you," the girl said in awe.

"Oh, I'm sure he does," Finch assured her. "At least, much more than most people would give him credit for. Wolfhounds are one of the most intelligent breeds, in my opinion."

Reese turned to smile at him, tongue lolling, recognizing the quote stolen from the gentleman they had just met in the park.

"Yes, you are, aren't you?" Finch grinned back, scratching behind his ears. "Smarter than the average dog!"

"Woof!"

After getting a small tag engraved with his name and contact information, Finch removed the ties from Reese's neck and put his new gear on. Then, when he began to pay for his purchases at the cash register, Reese grabbed the hem of his suit jacket and tugged.

"What? Am I forgetting something?" Finch asked.

"Wuff," Reese replied before sauntering over to an aisle filled with rawhide chews and bones.

"Of course! I'm sorry, Mr. Reese – I'd forgotten after suggesting it myself," Finch said apologetically, earning him another stare from the girl. The other clerk was also staring at them, but Finch didn't notice, being overwhelmed with the choices of chewable items before him.

"Well... which one would you like?" Finch asked as Reese sniffed at the various packages.

"Woof," he finally decided, picking up a large, shrink-wrapped bone in his mouth.

"We also have a special on Sunshine brand kibble," the girl offered. "I'll bet you go through a lot of dog food with this big guy!"

Finch turned to Reese, who looked up at him imploringly, his large eyes made even bigger by his expression. Finch had to suppress a snort.

"Ah, actually, John is on a strict diet of fresh meat and vegetables," he informed her, pulling out his wallet again. "I'm considering entering him in the next dog show, so he has to be in top condition."

"He sure is a good-looking dog," she agreed. "So... is his name 'John' or 'Mr. Reese'?"

"Ah... 'Mr. John Fitzpatrick Reese' as a matter of fact," Finch answered, belatedly realizing his slip-up.

"Wow... That's a long name for a dog," she remarked as she slid his credit card through the register.

"Well, people often have three or more names, and John is a very _special_ dog. At least to me... Although I suppose _all_ pet owners think theirs is the smartest and best," Finch said with a self-deprecating smile.

"And you know what, they're all right," the girl smiled back warmly. "Here's your receipt. Have a nice day!"

* * *

As they walked back through the park, Reese pulled on his leash, trying to go across the grass.

"I don't do well on uneven surfaces, John," Finch protested, but Reese only woofed at him and continued tugging in that direction. Relenting, Finch followed after him, letting out the lead so Reese could move on ahead. Much to Finch's consternation, Reese trotted up to a picnic blanket and nudged one of the people sitting on it.

"Whoa! Hey there, big guy," the teenage boy said when he turned around and found Reese's shaggy face near his own. "Where'd you come from?"

"Taylor," Finch gasped, then saw the other person behind him on the blanket. "Detective Carter..."

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Mystery Man. Should I call you 'Harold' today, or do you prefer 'Norman'?" Carter asked. Despite the sarcasm of her words, she was smiling and looking more relaxed than usual – possibly because she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.

"Please, Detective – just 'Harold' is fine," Finch said with a little sigh.

"Cool dog," Taylor said, already scratching his head and getting sniffed in return. "What kind is it? He's huge!"

"Irish Wolfhound. You're welcome to take him for a run, if you'd like. I'm... limited in my mobility, and he needs to get more exercise than I can provide for him."

Reese gave Finch an amused look, then returned his attention to Taylor as the boy rifled through his backpack and produced a stress ball, which he showed to Reese. He sniffed at it with interest.

"Does he fetch?"

"I'm sure he can," Finch said dryly, unlatching the leash from Reese's collar when he observed that his tail was beginning to wag. "The real question is, can you throw?"

Grinning, Taylor got up to find a less populated area of the park, with Reese following expectantly at his heels.

"Would you like to sit down?" Carter asked.

"I suppose I might as well... although I may need some assistance getting back up again," Finch admitted. "It looks like John will be engaged for a while..."

"'_John_'? You named your dog, 'John'?"

"That's his name. He came with it," Finch replied, considering how much he ought to tell her. She shook her head in disbelief, although she was still smiling.

"What does the other John think about that?"

Finch swallowed, then glanced over to where Taylor had just thrown the ball – as hard as he could – towards a grassy patch. Reese took off like a gray lightning bolt, galloping across a field and leaping into the air to catch it in his mouth. Then in a fluid motion he turned around and trotted back to Taylor, releasing the ball immediately in a way that only the most well-disciplined of canines would.

"I'm not sure how to answer that," Finch began slowly. "Detective... how much do you know about the Haitian practice of Voodoo?"

"I beg your pardon?" she said, raising an eyebrow. Finch nervously fidgeted with the handle of the lead for a moment before looking her straight in the eye.

"I know this sounds incredible, and you might be tempted to lock me up in some... mental institution," he finally confessed, "but that _is_ John. He was... assaulted, for lack of a better word, by the aunt of that young gang member he left for the police to find last night. I thought he was free and clear of the whole incident, but this morning he... showed up, at our rendezvous point, in that shape. Now, I'm more skeptical than most people, Detective, but when he tried to communicate through my computer keyboard, I put together another one that was more suited to his... current condition. He is capable of typing out entire sentences – coherent ones – in response to my verbal questions, and he knows things that only John would. Plus he had John's wallet with him. You may find it hard to believe, even impossible, but I'm convinced that that dog is John himself."

Carter had scrutinized Finch's face during his explanation, and she was wearing a frown on her own now.

"I may not believe what you're saying, Harold," she responded, "but I'm afraid that _you_ believe your story... Have you considered getting checked out at a hospital?"

"Well, no... I didn't think it was necessary. But perhaps John can prove it himself," he suggested. They both looked over at Reese, who turned into a gray blur as he streaked across the grass in chase of the ball. When he trotted back to Taylor, Finch called out as loudly as he could.

"Mr. Reese, could you join us for a minute?"

Reese instantly dropped the ball at Taylor's feet and bounded over to them.


	5. Chapter 5

Wolfhound

* * *

"He sure responds well to verbal commands," Carter observed, although watching him skeptically. Reese loped up to Finch and gave him an expectant look.

"I was wondering if there might be any way you could convince the detective as to your true identity," Finch told him.

"Awr-_roar_-rrr?" Reese groaned in dismay, and Carter thought she had almost heard him say, "You _told_ her?"

"_You're_ the one who found them here and dragged me over," Finch reminded. "And considering our current... difficulty, and what we might be up against, we can use all the help we can get."

Reese huffed a canine sigh as Taylor came running up.

"Did you call him? All of a sudden he took off," Taylor panted.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that, Mr. Carter – I needed to discuss something with him," Finch said. He noticed the strange look that Taylor exchanged with his mother. "Ah... you may want to be sitting down for this."

"For what?" Taylor asked as he plopped down on the blanket and patted Reese.

"Harold thinks that that _dog_ is John," his mother supplied for him with a significant lift of one eyebrow.

"What? You mean... _badass_ John?" Taylor responded incredulously.

"Well, yes," Finch confirmed, resigning himself to the inevitable. "Although at the moment, he's more of a furry-ass than a badass..."

Reese rolled his eyes and moaned, making both Carters look at him askance.

"He told me by typing on a keyboard that he'd had a... rather unpleasant run-in with a woman who practiced Voodoo," Finch continued. "She threw some kind of fluid on him, and after enduring a severe bout of pain, he found himself... transformed, into the shape you see now."

"Wuff," Reese added in support.

"That's... That's just crazy," Taylor flatly stated.

"I realize what you must think," Finch said with a sigh. "Either I'm completely off my rocker, or I'm pulling your leg in the most elaborate – not to mention pointless – hoax."

"You _were_ pretty convincing the first time I interviewed you," Carter said blandly. "But you're right: even if you could convince us that John was somehow turned into a dog, there's not much point to it. Unless you killed him and are trying to cover it up now with this cockamamie story."

"Rowr-rah-_rah_-harr!" Reese objected.

"I assure you, Detective, that if Mr. Reese were to die, it would not be at my hands," Finch said hastily. "It's very possible that he might meet his demise while working on one of our cases, of course – in fact it's quite probable – but I would be the last person to be the _instrument_ of it. In the first place, I doubt I would be _able_ to murder him, even if I wished to do so; and secondly, I would have nothing to gain from his death, and everything to lose."

"Rawr," Reese whined, gently licking Finch's hand.

"Well, you're my best employee, after all," Finch admitted, addressing Reese.

"Rawr-rohr-_rowr_-ry rrr-rohr-ree," Reese replied.

"True," Finch smiled.

"_What'd_ he just say?" Taylor demanded.

"I believe he pointed out, 'I'm your _only_ employee,'" Finch translated, to which Reese delivered a "Woof!" with his tail wagging. Taylor stared at the two of them, shell-shocked, while his mother pressed a hand against her furrowed forehead.

"He could just be a really well-trained dog, and you could be giving him signals to make it _look_ like he's responding to you..." she began, but was interrupted when Reese stood up and gave a rather annoyed "Woof!" before walking off.

"Where's he going?" she asked.

"Honestly, I have no idea," Finch answered, turning to watch as Reese trotted to the nearest wastebasket. He sniffed it over, then went to the next one, sniffed that, then jumped to place his forepaws on the rim (standing on his hind legs) as he nosed through the trash.

"He's dumpster-diving. I hope he's not going to pull out something disgusting," Carter murmured.

Finch did not respond, but they soon had their answer: Reese came back with a crumpled white paper bag with the logo of Jimmy John's Gourmet Sandwiches. While they watched – the two Carters stunned – Reese proceeded to rip the bag by holding it down with his paws and tearing the edges with his teeth until all that remained was the word "John". He dropped that piece of paper on Carter's lap, then sat up and looked her straight in the eyes.

"Okay... Okay... I believe you," Carter slowly stated, swallowing as she picked up the scrap. "Either you're some kind of genius dog... or you're really John."

"Wuff," Reese said, approvingly.

"Detective, we wouldn't pull your leg on something like this," Finch put in, relieved that Reese had been able to convince her. "All I'm asking for is some help gathering information. For example, if you know someone who is familiar with the Haitian gang, or even has a Haitian background, they might have some idea as to how to reverse a... a curse of this nature."

"I've got a friend in the Organized Crime unit who's dealt with that gang before... I could give him a call and see if he's ever heard of... something like this." She pursed her lips for a moment. "I don't want him to think I've lost my mind, though, so I'll have to be careful how I ask him."

"I understand completely," Finch assured her. "Any information you get would be _most_ appreciated. There's not a whole lot about their practices posted on the Internet."

"I wouldn't think so," she agreed. Taylor simply stared at Reese.

"Awr-rowr, ree-roor-rowr," Reese said, standing up.

"What? Oh, yes – I suppose we should be going," Finch replied, struggling to get to his feet. Reese slipped under one of his arms and braced himself, obviously offering his support. "Are you sure? You may be large for a dog, but I wouldn't want to hurt your back..."

"Wuff," Reese answered, not budging, so Finch gingerly put some weight on Reese's shoulder and hoisted himself up. Taylor jumped up to help him, too, at a nudge from his mother.

"Ah, thank you, Mr. Carter... and Mr. Reese," Finch said, straightening out his wrinkled pant leg. "I'm sorry we interrupted you on your day off, Detective. Enjoy your picnic."

"No problem," Carter said with just a hint of irony. "And if you figure out how to... get John back to his usual self, give me a call."

"You'll be the first to know," Finch told her, while Reese picked up the lead and the bag with the bone so Finch wouldn't have to bend over for them. "Ah, yes. Let's get that back on you, shall we? No sense tempting fate..."

Taylor was still staring at Reese, and finally got up the nerve to ask, "So you're... you're really _John?_"

"Woof," Reese answered, smiling his doggy smile.

"That's just... messed up," Taylor muttered.

"Rahr-ree-arowr-reh," Reese replied. When Taylor turned to Finch, confused, he supplied the translation again.

"I believe he said, 'Tell me about it.' I'm sure even Mr. Reese has never experienced anything like _this_ before..."

"Woof!"

Leaving the still-stunned Carters behind, they made their way back to the sidewalk.

"Awr-rowr?"

"Yes, John?"

"Wahr-ror-rawrf?"

"What's for lunch? I was thinking we could go to some pet-friendly restaurant. Let me check to see what's around here..." Finch brought out his cell and did a quick search. "There are several in the area... How does the Avenue A Café sound? They have dog-friendly burgers on the menu – I think they must be low sodium."

"Woof!" Reese responded with enthusiasm.

"Come to think of it, you must not have had breakfast," Finch realized. "I'm so sorry, John – I could have at least given you something to snack on at the library. Well, we'll rectify that soon."

The café was a relaxed neighborhood hangout, and the waitress made much of Reese as soon as they walked in.

"What a great dog! We don't see too many of them here in the City, but I've always loved the larger breeds," she gushed when she brought a bowl of water for Reese. "So handsome, so... _regal_. Like a king – the king of dogs!"

"He certainly is," Finch agreed, with a fond smile that lit up his features. Reese grinned and set his chin on Finch's knee, begging to be petted. With a slight chuckle, Finch obliged. "Yes, you're a good boy, aren't you, John? A _vewy_ good boy!" Reese snorted in laughter but did not remove his head until Finch had given him a thorough scratching, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the contact.

His Doggie Burger Deluxe was brought out along with Finch's Blackened Chicken Salad, but Reese wolfed his entrée down in no time flat. To Finch's query, "Would you like something else?" he merely pulled out the chair across from Finch and parked his furry hindquarters on it, placing his forepaws on the table.

"Ar-roor, Awr-rowr," he said. "Rar-reer _ruff_-rerrowr."

"You're welcome, John," Finch responded with another smile.

"Is he _talking_ to you?" the waitress asked in shock.

"Of course. He always keeps me company at the dinner table," he demurely said before handing her his credit card.


	6. Chapter 6

Wolfhound

* * *

They returned to the library without incident, where Finch resumed his research into Voodoo, increasing his search parameters to include urban legends and myths. Reese wandered off after a while – less inconspicuously than he would have in his human form, since his toenails clacked on the floor – and came back a short time later to type on his specialized keyboard.

CANT GET BATHROOM DOOR OPEN. NO THUMBS, he informed Finch ruefully.

"Oh! I'm sorry, John. I'll get that for you," Finch said as he stood up from his chair, but Reese was still typing.

BRING SOMETHING TO LEAVE IT CRACK OPEN SO I CAN DO IT MYSELF LATER.

"Good idea. Let's see, I'll need something to wedge into it... Maybe this box will do. I'll just throw in some old parts to weigh it down..."

Reese scratched himself with a hind leg while Finch filled the small box, then trotted ahead of the man to the bathroom.

"You could have gone anywhere while we were outside, you know," Finch mentioned.

"Wurrr," Reese groaned, obviously displeased with the idea.

"I know, it seems uncivilized, but no-one would be the wiser."

"Roo-woor-rohwr," Reese pointed out.

"Well, yes, but considering your current circumstances, I wouldn't think any less of you for it." Arriving at the problematic door, Finch opened it for Reese. "I'm assuming you can handle things from here?"

"Wuff."

Reese jumped up and placed his forepaws on the wall on either side of the floor urinal, then relieved himself with an unmistakable sigh of relief, the tinkling stream of water lasting a surprisingly long time. Meanwhile, Finch adjusted the box so that it would not slide out from between the door and the doorjamb, then tried letting the door close on its own a few times. "There, that should work. Let me know if you can open it now," Finch said as he turned around to Reese, just in time to see the large hound dog's hindquarters wriggling as (very conscientiously) Reese tried to shake off any drops that might be clinging to his furry prepuce.

"Woof woof," he said with a final shake.

"Ah... Would you... That is, I could... get some paper, and... wipe you, if you'd like..." Finch offered, at the same time thinking that he really hadn't needed the image of Reese's furry butt wriggling like that – tail and all – implanted in his mind.

"Ohr, Awr-rowr," Reese said, his bushy eyebrows bunching together. "Woo-rorh-ruff-furr-roo-raff!"

"I know, but... if there's a chance you might... have any wetness on your fur," he explained, trying hard not to stare at the damp tuft at the end of Reese's organ, "I would rather take care of it here and now than... well, finding out about it later in some... less-than-pleasant way."

Reese looked about as embarrassed as he could with his furry dog face, but crawled up the wall to stand at his full height while Finch grabbed the toilet paper. Mercifully, since he was so tall even as a dog, Finch did not have to bend over far to dab at his wet spot of fur.

"There, how's that?" Finch asked, trying to keep things as clinical and detached as possible.

"Woof. Ar-roor."

"You're welcome."

Reese practiced opening the door with his nose while Finch washed his hands, then demonstrated his skill when Finch was ready to leave.

"Oh, very good. I hope this gives you some autonomy and... independence," Finch remarked, walking down the hall with Reese plodding contentedly along at his heels. "If there's anything else I can do to help you be more self-sufficient, just let me know. I can only imagine how... trapped, and limited, you must be feeling. I have an inkling, having spent some time in a wheelchair – as you have, too – but to be turned into a dog... It must be traumatic for someone like you."

"Awr-roo-roo-rhee?"

"Well, ordinarily, you're so... _capable_ – physically fit, strong, able to do whatever you set your mind to – that losing so many of your abilities at once has to be... an even more dramatic change of circumstances than for, say, someone like me."

Finch lowered himself carefully back into his chair but did not turn to his computer right away.

"I'm so sorry that this has happened to you, John. I'll do everything I can to get you back to normal. I feel more than a little responsible, having asked you – _hounded_ you, if you'll pardon the expression – to join me in this endeavor."

"Rowrf, Awr-rowr," Reese countered, placing one paw gently on Finch's knee. "Ar-roo-rah-reeff."

"I know... But you couldn't have envisioned the risk of... being _transmogrified_, of all things!"

"Rowr. Ruff-ar-rohr reereff-iff."

"I'm glad to hear you say so."

Finch laid his hand on Reese's paw for a moment as they both tried to come to grips with the strange new reality they were facing. Then, taking a deep breath, Finch pulled his keyboard closer on the desk, and Reese walked over to his own.

EVER SEE WEEKEND AT BERNIES, was what Finch saw appear on the other monitor. SEQUEL HAD VOODOO PRIESTESS. TURNED GUYS INTO GOATS.

"Wasn't that a movie from the Eighties?" Finch asked, furrowing his brow. For the first time in his life, he saw a dog actually shrug its shoulders.

MIGHT GIVE US A CLUE. MAYBE.

"Although I doubt that a Hollywood production would have much basis in fact, after what I've seen with my own eyes, I'm willing to keep an open mind," Finch conceded.

HAVE TO SEE FIRST ONE FIRST. HILARIOUS, Reese typed.

"I'll bear that in mind," was Finch's dry response. "Hmm... Listen to this: here's someone blogging about an urban myth where a Voodoo priest turned a man into a rooster and killed him as a sacrifice to the gods... or the spirits, as the case may be. Because the victim was in 'chicken form' at the time, the priest could not be prosecuted for murder, which – this blogger contends – was the whole point of transforming him. However, there's no mention of how to _return_ a transformed person back to his human state... Well, that wasn't very helpful, but there might be an element of truth to this story, after all..."

Finch read aloud a few more articles (all equally unhelpful) of humans purportedly being transformed into various animals. After about an hour, Reese stood up, typed GOING TO GET SOME EXERCISE, and stretched his long limbs.

"Yes... I suppose you'll have a more interesting time _sniffing_ around this building," Finch said with a knowing lift of his eyebrows. "It's no wonder, really, that you were turned into a scent hound."

Reese grinned at him, tongue lolling, before typing again.

IM A SIGHT HOUND. CAN SEE QUITE WELL TOO.

"Oh? But how does it affect you to be colorblind?"

ONLY SOME COLORS. REDS ARE FADED, he explained. CAN SEE FUTHER SHARPER.

"Ah! No wonder you spotted the Carters so quickly."

YES. BUT SMELLED CARTERS PERFUME FIRST.

"Oh... I see. That's... uncanny. But I suppose your canine olfactory sense is... quite well developed."

YOUR COLOGNE SMELLS NICE TOO, HAROLD, Reese quickly added. WHAT IS IT.

"Ah... Acqui Di Gio," Finch answered, somewhat cautiously. "If you like it, I'll get you a bottle to celebrate your return to human form."

THANKS BUT NO. HAVE TO BLEND IN, he pawed. BESIDES, CAN ALWAYS SMELL IT ON YOU.

"Well, yes... I suppose I _do_ wear it rather often," Finch was saying, when Reese suddenly jumped up onto the armrest of the chair with his front legs, placed his nose near his startled partner's neck, and inhaled in a loud, drawn-out sniff. Finch flinched involuntarily at the whiffling noise in his ear.

"Really, Mr. Reese?" he protested stiffly. "I wouldn't think you'd need to be so _close_ to smell it now."

Reese grinned at him, then deliberately licked Finch's face from his jaw up to his cheekbone, leaving a smudge on the inside of his glasses, before loping off down the hallway. Finch gasped but could not think of an adequate retort to shoot at his retreating shadow in time. It took him a minute just for his heart rate to slow down. Then he got up to go to the bathroom, intent on washing his face.

"If you don't cut that out, Mr. Reese," he grumbled under his breath, "I'm going to make you eat dog food for dinner!"

* * *

A/N: Reese was saying: "You would know," a few woofs, "Oh, Harold, you don't have to do that!" "Good. Thank you," "How do you mean?" "Don't, Harold. I knew the risks," and "No. But I don't regret it."


	7. Chapter 7

Wolfhound

* * *

Contrary to his muttered threat, Finch found himself looking for an upscale, dog-friendly restaurant for dinner after half of the afternoon had passed in fruitless research.

"He's a very large dog; are you sure it won't be a problem?" he checked before making the reservation. A tell-tale clacking of toenails informed him that Reese had walked into the room.

"We have seating and services to accommodate all sizes and breeds of dogs, sir," the young woman on the phone assured him. "Our booths are big enough for even Great Danes to sit in comfortably."

"Very good, then – six thirty it is."

"We look forward to seeing you, Mr. Bustard."

Ending the call, Finch turned to find Reese observing him with what, presumably, was intended to be an innocent smile, although the wicked twinkling in his eyes gave him away.

"After your ill-mannered behavior earlier, I considered going back to the pet store to pick up some kibble for your dinner," Finch told him rather stiffly, hoping to make his displeasure known, "but for now, I'm going to overlook your canine improprieties by chalking them up to animalistic impulses. _For now_," he added with emphasis as Reese's tail began wagging impertinently.

Reese padded over to his array of keyboards and typed, VERY WISE OF YOU.

"Oh? How so?" Finch retorted.

EVER BEEN FRENCH KISSED BY A DOG, appeared on the screen as Reese's one paw and nose flitted over the keys.

"No!" Finch gasped, horrified. "You _wouldn't!_"

CAN AND WILL, Reese calmly informed him. KIBBLE TASTES AWFUL. WILL MAKE SURE YOU GET GOOD TASTE TOO IF YOU FORCE ME.

"All right, all right! No kibble," Finch conceded in defeat. "But you have to agree to not lick my face."

CANT PROMISE THAT. ANIMAL IMPULSES.

Finch stared balefully at the large creature that was Reese, who only grinned at him with his sizeable tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

"I think you've just depleted all the sympathy I had for you for ending up in this deplorable condition," Finch stated in his driest tone.

MUST ADAPT TO SURVIVE, Reese answered with an equally straight face, then added, FOUND SOMETHING. BOOK DOWNSTAIRS.

"Oh?" Finch said in unfeigned surprise.

CAN STILL READ. TURNING INTO DOG DIDNT MAKE ME ILLITERATE, Reese shot back. DIDNT WANT TO SCRATCH BOOK WITH NAILS, THO.

"Let's have a look, then," Finch responded, and Reese led him to a dusty room one level down – the religion section, which Finch had not revisited since culling all the books on philosophy that he thought were worthy of a place in his own collection. "I didn't even think to look here for a book on Voodoo," he admitted. "I'm surprised you found anything."

Reese turned to grin at him, then continued on towards the end of a row where he leapt up to place his forepaws on a shelf. His nose was pointed at a book entitled, "The Cross and the Snake," by Luis Jimenes, with a barely visible subtitle on the spine that read, "Wrestling against the Arm of Satan in Haiti."

"Well, that's certainly promising," Finch said as he took it off the shelf and opened it. "Looks like an account by a Catholic missionary... Let's see if there's anything useful in here."

Back in the office, Finch placed the book on the table (shoving his keyboards aside to make room) and began skimming through the pages. Reese waited patiently for the man to make some comment but after several minutes, when none seemed forthcoming, he placed his forepaws on the armrest of the chair to leverage himself up. Finding a wet dog nose in uncomfortable proximity to his own, Finch instinctively drew back; however, he knew he was still within striking range should Reese choose to go on the offensive.

"What is it, Mr. Reese?" he demanded.

"Whuf-fuf-iff-fay?" Reese asked in turn.

"Oh. Well, nothing much... just the conditions of the native people when this missionary arrived. I haven't come across anything substantial about Voodoo yet," Finch explained, belatedly realizing how boring it must have been for Reese to watch him read. "I'll tell you if I come across anything interesting, I promise."

"Woof," Reese said and hopped down. He typed on his keyboards, though, and when Finch looked up from the book, the message on the monitor said, CAN YOU MULTITASK.

"I suppose so... Why?"

BELLY RUBS ARE A DOGS BEST FRIEND, Reese punched out with surprising agility.

The expression on Finch's face was one of disbelief mingled with outrage, but Reese ignored it as he padded over and once again jumped up onto his chair. Hooking his front paws under the armrest, Reese contorted his body so that his head lay against Finch's hip and his side was conveniently exposed on Finch's lap, right where his left hand would rest.

"You're really pushing it, John," Finch managed to get out at last. "Honestly! _Belly rubs?_"

A whiny howl was all the excuse Reese made. With a longsuffering sigh, Finch started rubbing the furry torso presented to him. The deep, satisfied sigh that rumbled through the canine body did nothing to soothe his own ruffled feathers – or at least, that was what Finch told himself. Yet before long his hand was moving automatically as he paged through the book.

"This is interesting," Finch began, slowing down both hands as he read in more detail. "It's not transfiguration _per se_, but the missionary encountered a man supposedly under the spell of the local _bokor_, or witch doctor... This is the origin of zombies, it seems... A person who had died and been buried was brought back to life by the magic of the witch doctor – or the curse of Satan, as this missionary tends to believe – and was kept spellbound to do the witch doctor's bidding... Perhaps if they have a cure for this, it may give us some clue..."

Finch continued reading for a while, not moving his hand where it rested on Reese's pelt, but Reese did not interrupt, lying still until Finch started talking again.

"Okay, they ended up taking the man to a _sangoma_, another kind of witch doctor, or healer – a woman who was said to commune with dead ancestors and have the power to heal illnesses caused by magic. Now we're getting somewhere... The _sangoma_ had the zombified man re-buried up to his neck, then made him drink some medicine and poured the rest over his head, chanted some prayers, and had him dug up again. The missionary says that the man was able to return to his family, quote, 'sound of mind and body.' Fascinating... He goes on to say that he suspects the medicine, produced from indigenous plant species, probably had something to do with the man's almost miraculous recovery. Ah! He also mentions that the trance-like state might have been induced by some potent drug made by the _bokor_, too, although he doesn't rule out demonic influences altogether..."

Finch looked down to meet Reese's eyes, which were bright and intense with hope.

"So if we can just find a _sangoma_ here in New York, she may be able to reverse the effects of this spell, or potion, on you," he declared with triumph.

"Woof!" Reese answered enthusiastically.

"Let me start a search," Finch said, drawing a keyboard closer. Reese got down off his lap without complaint, then walked around the chair and jumped up on the back so he could see the monitor over Finch's shoulder. In all of New York, only one man was listed in the phone book as a Voodoo priest. Finch dialed the number, using the speakerphone function for Reese's benefit.

"Hello," a thickly accented voice answered.

"Hello, is this Jeremiah Nene?" Finch asked.

"It is. You are calling about a problem," the man said, as a statement.

"Well, yes... My friend had a rather... unusual curse put on him by a practitioner of Vodou," Finch explained cautiously. "We were hoping you might be able to reverse it..."

"What are his symptoms?"

"Ah..." Finch paused, his mouth dry. "Well... as crazy as this may sound, he's been... transformed. Turned into a... a dog."

There was a moment of tense silence as both Finch and Reese waited, holding their breath. They finally heard Jeremiah Nene sigh before he answered, "I am very sorry, but I cannot help you. This is the work of Mawon – Nadege Mawon. She is a most powerful _mambo_. I cannot reverse her spell. Only she can cure him, but she is not easily placated... and your friend must have angered her greatly to make her use such a powerful curse. She is very dangerous. I am sorry."

With a _click_ of finality, the man hung up, leaving both Finch and Reese rather shell-shocked as they stared at the phone.

"He knew immediately who had put the curse on you," Finch remarked. "It seems her reputation is... well known."

With a determined gait, Reese walked over to his keyboard array and typed, IF SHE'S THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN REVERSE IT, WE HAVE TO GET TO HER.

"Agreed. But I don't want to go after her without knowing more about... _how_ she does what she does. If there's some chemical substance that caused the transformation, perhaps we can figure out the antidote..."

Finch's voice died out as Reese stared at him balefully with his dog face.

YOU REALLY THINK SOME EXOTIC MIX OF CHEMICALS COULD CAUSE THIS, he typed as quickly as he could. It was a rhetorical question, and Finch knew it.

"No... No, I suppose not," he sighed, his shoulders sagging. "But if she could make it happen, we have to assume that she can make it... _un_-happen. I'd like to know as much about her as possible. Perhaps with enough cash, she will agree to reverse it."

MIGHT DEMAND NEPHEWS RELEASE.

"Yes... That's a possibility. All the more reason we should find out everything we can about her."

WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR, Reese nosed, then stood up.

"Nothing, Mr. Reese. I've already been gathering surveillance footage from the cameras in her neighborhood."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the wait! I can honestly blame FF for it – since they deleted some of Katica Locke's stories for content, I've had to create my own WordPress account and start moving my stories over, which is taking a lot of time. Once they're all transferred there, I'll be closing this account. I do hope all of you will be able and willing to make the jump with me! Without the fear of Big Brother looking over my shoulder, I can promise more unbridled smut, at least! The URL is Thea Nishimori. WordPress. com (with no spaces).

In case you couldn't catch what Reese said that one time, it was, "What does it say?"


	8. Chapter 8

Wolfhound

* * *

As they reviewed the footage, Reese barked to point out Nadege Mawon when she left the Haitian neighborhood that morning. There were few surveillance cameras within that district for Finch to access, but they were able to track her easily once she moved out of it, since her flowing white dress and traditional head-wrap made her conspicuous even on the multicultural streets of New York.

"She went to the 15th Precinct where her nephew is being held," Finch remarked as Mawon entered a building. "No doubt to visit him... perhaps to tell him that she'd exacted her revenge on you."

OR HELP HIM ESCAPE, Reese cautioned.

"True," Finch agreed, fast forwarding the tape. "Ah! Here she is, coming back out again. No sign of her nephew, thankfully."

After confirming that she had returned to her neighborhood, they continued to scan the video footage until they were caught up to the current time. Finch surmised that her clientele came to her premises – perhaps she had a shrine or altar set up – but it was hard to tell who might be her customers, especially since Finch could not pinpoint her location. As for an electronic footprint, apart from her family's immigration over thirty years ago, she had none: no driver's license, no bank account, not even a library card.

"She probably does all of her business within the Haitian community," Finch said with a sigh when his searches came up empty. "Nothing like a tightly knit ethnic community to hide in, as long as you belong there... They would never tell an outsider what she does or how to find her – if not out of loyalty, out of fear."

CANT BLAME THEM, Reese typed morosely. WONDER HOW MANY SHE CHANGED BEFORE ME.

"Indeed... or what happened to them," Finch mulled. His search of missing Haitians in New York also brought up no unusual cases.

MAYBE NOBODY REPORTS THEM MISSING, Reese nose-typed.

"Very likely. If they're illegal aliens, they wouldn't want to go to the authorities to start with, and if they're afraid of Mawon, all the more reason to keep their silence."

WONDER IF THEY TURN BACK WHEN THEY DIE.

Finch gazed at his currently canine partner for a long moment after reading the last line.

"I assure you, Mr. Reese, I will do absolutely _everything_ in my power to get you back to your true form. Even if I have to fly you to Haiti to get the spell reversed."

Reese appreciatively nosed Finch's hand where it hung off the edge of the armrest, then typed, BUT HE SAID ONLY SHE CAN REVERSE IT.

"Yes, well... that's what he _said_," Finch admitted, "but if she can't be persuaded, I will scour the entire island of Haiti – or go back to Voodoo's African roots if necessary – to find a cure for you. I promise, if there is a cure to be had, I will find it."

THANKS. HOPE IT WONT COME TO THAT.

"As do I. I'm not sure I could survive a plane ride that long with you – in such an enclosed space," Finch commented, hoping to lighten the mood. Reese lolled his tongue out in amusement.

IM A GREAT LAP DOG. YOU WONT NEED BLANKET. WONT EVEN HAVE TO WASH YOUR FACE.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Finch grumbled. "Just keep that tongue of yours where it belongs, Mr. Reese!"

IN YOUR MOUTH, Reese typed with impunity.

"_No_, in your _own_ mouth, thank you very much," Finch shot back. "I may have to cancel our dinner reservation, after all..."

DONT MAKE ME FRENCH YOU WITH KIBBLE BREATH, Reese warned.

Finch glared at him balefully. "You are becoming truly insufferable, John. Even more so than when you were a man. I hope you know that."

Reese just flashed him a wolfish grin.

* * *

Finch decided to take Reese to a dog run near the restaurant before dinner, thinking that his intractable behavior might be due (at least partially) to being cooped up in the library most of the day. Finch led him inside the fenced-in area and removed his leash before stepping back outside.

"Go on," Finch said encouragingly. "It's called a 'dog run,' John, so I suggest you make the best of it and get some exercise."

With a huff that might have been agreement or resignation, Reese began to canter around the enclosure and was accosted by a few other dogs that wanted to sniff him. Fending them off with a well-timed paw, Reese took off running, in effect inviting them to a game of chase.

Satisfied that Reese was getting some good out of this outing, Finch walked over to an empty bench and sat down, watching the dogs frolic inside the enclosure. He was startled when a young man – possibly in his thirties – sat down beside him.

"Which one's yours?" he asked with an amiable smile.

"Ah, the big one – the Wolfhound," Finch told him, indicating a pile-up in a corner where several dogs were fighting over a toy. Reese had just stuck his nose between two growling Labrador Retrievers and, with a low "_Woof!_" that brooked no dissent, broken up the escalating tension.

"Wow... That's a lot of dog," the man said appreciatively. "Mine's the brown Cadoodle over there... not quite as big as yours, but she still makes my apartment feel small."

"Uh... Pardon my ignorance, but what exactly is a 'Cadoodle'?" Finch asked.

"A Collie-Poodle mix," the man explained. "You can see she got her curly hair from the Poodle side."

"Ah, yes, of course. You must spend a lot of time grooming her."

"Yeah... she _is_ high-maintenance," he replied with a slight grimace. "Wouldn't trade her for the world, though. She's helped me cope, in so many ways, since my partner died..."

"Oh," Finch responded, in no doubt as to what kind of "partner" the man meant. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thanks," he acknowledged, keeping his eyes on his dog as she played with a Bichon. "It's been a tough road... I don't know how I would've managed without Sylvie." He shot Finch a half-apologetic smile. "So... how did you end up with a big dog like that?"

"Ah, well, I'm prone to seizures, you see," Finch said, sticking with his cover story. "I heard that some dogs can be trained to warn you when a seizure is coming on, so I looked into it, and John was the first one available. He can get help if I become unresponsive, too. He's a bit more than I had bargained for, I admit," he added with a wry grin, "but I'm glad I found him. He's been a tremendous help."

"That's great," the man said with a genuine smile. "It's amazing what dogs can do. And at the end of the day, all they really want is your love and approval."

"And belly rubs, apparently."

"Oh, yeah!" the man laughed. "Sylvie loves belly rubs, too! I'm Erick Friedman, by the way. I work as a copy editor at The Prognosticator."

Finch shook his extended hand and replied, "Harold. Harold Bustard. I'm a bean counter at an insurance firm."

"Nice to meet you, Harold," Erick grinned. "Is this your first time here? I haven't seen you before, and Sylvie and I come every day."

"Yes, this is our first time. I thought John might like a change of scenery."

"Well, I'm glad you did." Erick gazed back at his dog for a moment, then asked, "Would you care for a cup of coffee? I can run over to Starbucks if you don't mind keeping an eye on Sylvie for a few minutes..."

"Ah... I don't drink coffee, but I'd be happy to watch Sylvie until you get back," Finch told him.

"Can I get you something else? Tea? Hot chocolate?"

"No, thank you – we have a dinner reservation in a little bit."

"By 'we' do you mean you and John? Or is it... someone _human_?"

"Ah..." Finch hesitated, reluctant to share so much information with someone he had just met. He also sensed that the man's offer of coffee had not been a merely friendly gesture – that his inquisitiveness regarding Finch's dinner plans was not simply disinterested curiosity. "Just John and myself," he finally answered.

"Oh," Erick said, his smile brilliant and obviously relieved. "You must be going to Bone Appétit. Their food is great, and their service is awesome. I take Sylvie there for her birthday every year."

"I'm glad to hear that," Finch said with a polite smile. "I saw some good reviews for them online, but you can never tell..."

"You'll like it, I'm sure. In fact... maybe sometime we could all go together..."

Finch did not know quite how to reply to that. For one thing, he realized that Erick was, for all intents and purposes, asking him out on a date; for another, he hoped that he wouldn't need to bring Reese, in his canine form, to the dog run for much longer. Before he could even begin to contemplate the awkwardness of having Reese as a Wolfhound along at a dinner date, however, a furry blur came hurtling towards them, stopping just short of crashing into the bench but planting its front legs in the small space between them.

"_AWR-ROWR!_" Reese howled in indignation.

"John! W-What..." Finch spluttered, his voice trailing off.

"Did he just jump that fence?" Erick asked, rhetorically and incredulously. "It's four feet tall!"

Finch could not formulate an answer since Reese was crawling all over him, spreading his shaggy body across Finch's lap and giving Erick a silent but eloquent glare over his shoulder.

"Well... Look who's jealous," Erick stated, then burst into good-natured laughter. "I guess he doesn't want you talking to me, Harold. It's okay, big guy, I can take a hint," he continued, addressing Reese. "I'm not trying to take Harold away from you. But I do hope, if you come back here again, that you'll let me talk to him a bit. I swear, my intentions are honorable!"

Erick bravely stretched out his hand close to Reese's nose, which Reese deigned to give a cursory sniff, but Finch felt a low, not-quite-satisfied growl rumble through his chest.

"Really, John," Finch protested, exasperated. "You're acting like a big baby!"

"It's all right, Harold," Erick put in, nodding towards the dog run. "My Sylvie would be on my lap right now, too, if she could jump the fence."

Sure enough, the fluffy brown dog had her paws up on the fence and was barking madly, frustrated that another dog was so close to her human when she couldn't be.

"Dogs," Erick chuckled, "Ya gotta love 'em!"

"Indeed," Finch murmured, then let out a sigh.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's taken so long for me to update this! RL has been extremely busy... :(

If you haven't already, please bookmark my new website, TheaNishimori dot WordPress dot com. I'll continue posting this story here (as long as it doesn't get smutty) but all my new stories will be posted there exclusively. Thanks for reading! ^_^


	9. Chapter 9

Wolfhound

* * *

Reese continued to grumble and mutter under his breath on their way to the restaurant, the complaining tone in his growls quite evident. Finch managed to ignore him until they were seated at a semi-circular booth where Reese was able to lie comfortably along two thirds of the seat and look across the low table at him, fixing him with a baleful stare.

"You do realize, I have a hard enough time understanding you without you _mumbling_ like that," Finch pointed out. "If you have something to say, just _say_ it and be done with it."

"Roo-roorn-ree-_rawrin_-roo-_fray-yerf_," Reese stated with obvious disgust. "Roo-rorn-row _oo_-hee-iff." [You shouldn't be _talking_ to _strangers_. You don't know _who_ he is.]

"_He_ started talking to _me_," Finch said indignantly. "What was I supposed to do? Be rude?"

"Roo-rihrn haffoo-ree fo _frenry_ riffim..." [You didn't have to be so _friendly_ with him...]

"Why shouldn't I be? He seemed like a very nice man. I think he was trying to ask me out... In fact, I was considering taking him up on his offer." To Reese's dagger-like glare, Finch archly added, "You could keep his Cadoodle company. She seemed like a very sweet... well, dog."

The waitress arrived with a menu and Finch was startled to learn that they had quite a few choices for their canine clientele as well. While she left to wait on another table, he read the items aloud and asked Reese what he preferred.

"Waffer'f fine," Reese huffed. "An' awr-haff-ra Free-Reef-Reffrey. Roo-foor-fry ra frafe – if-frerrz-reery-roof." [Water's fine. And I'll have the Three Meat Medley. You should try the steak – it smells really good.]

"Ah. Good to know," Finch was saying when a well-dressed couple with a Saluki and a Whippet were led to the booth next to them. Both humans glanced at Reese appraisingly and, since their dogs were taking some time getting settled in, the man shot Finch a smile.

"That's a fine-looking specimen. Deerhound?"

"Close – Wolfhound," Finch replied.

"Oh, right. Great dogs. Very loyal."

"Uh... yes. If a tad possessive."

The man laughed, "All dogs like to keep a tight leash on their humans, I think," before taking his seat.

The waitress gave them their menus and came over to take Finch's order.

"Water and the Three Meat Medley for him – the extra large portion, of course. And I'll have the steak, medium well..."

Knowing that they could be overheard by the couple, Reese kept his mouth shut and rested his big, shaggy head on the table to gaze at Finch with soulful eyes. Finch fidgeted, checked his cell phone, and wished that he had brought a book. Thankfully, their drinks came out soon so he could sip his wine while Reese lapped his bowl of water.

"Ror-riffer," Reese finally said at a moment when the ambient noise was quite loud – three smaller-breed dogs were yapping in excitement in the booth across the aisle since their food had been brought out, and their female owners were almost equally boisterous with their giggling.

"I beg your pardon?" Finch responded without thinking.

"_Ror_-riffer. I finf-raff-fry waff-a ror-riffer."

The couple next to them were talking about their day so Finch risked leaning in over the table to whisper, "Are you saying 'gold-digger'? You think that guy was a '_gold-digger_'?"

"Yeff!"

"How could you possibly know – or guess – _that?_"

"Hee-faw-roo inna nife, free-reef-foof, wiffa _hyoof_ roff rife-fee, riffin-in Ranhaffan. Hee-fifyoorf roo-woor roar-ref." [He saw you dressed in a nice, three-piece suit, with a _huge_ dog like me, living in Manhattan. He figured you were loaded.]

"I see... well... I suppose it's _possible_," Finch conceded, if grudgingly. "But you can't expect me to believe that you could tell anything about his character just from sniffing his hand."

Reese snorted. "Frerr-rife-ah _roofer_ foo-ree." [Smelled like a _loser_ to me.]

As luck would have it, the couple happened to have a lull in their conversation just as Reese was finishing his statement, and the woman turned around in her seat in shock.

"Is he _talking_ to you?" she said in astonishment.

"Ah... yes," Finch said, with a nervous smile twitching his lips. "He likes to keep me company."

"Wow... it really sounded like he was... y'know, almost _saying_ something," her companion said. "Something intelligible, I mean."

"I'm sure _he_ thinks he is," was Finch's blithe reply.

"What do you think he's saying?" the woman asked as she peered at Reese over the back of her seat.

"Oh, you know – the usual. What he saw at the park, the things he smelled on our walk over... complaining about how long I have to work at the office and whining about being _locked up_ at home."

Finch gave Reese a significant glance as he said that last bit, making his partner's furry jaw drop open.

"Roo _roornf! _[You _wouldn't!_]" Reese protested in spite of himself, but the couple only laughed.

"He sure sounds like he's complaining, doesn't he? Maybe you should listen to him more," the woman suggested.

"Oh, he's all right – spoiled, really. Aren't you, John? You're just whining because you think you don't get enough attention, aren't you?"

"Grar-rar-_ruff_-rawr," Reese grumbled, trying to sound like a dog but also making his displeasure known. "Gror-ror-rowr-_ruff!_"

The waitress came out with their food then, though, and Finch noticed that Reese's tail thumped against the seat a few times as he shifted his position to better get at it. After swallowing his first mouthful, Reese conceded, "Riffiff reeriffious [This is delicious]," making sure that the waitress was taking the couple's order.

"I'm glad to hear that. Mine is quite good, too," Finch told him.

They ate without speaking until Reese had devoured every last morsel from his bowl and licked his chops clean. Finch was still only half-way through his steak and was startled when John addressed him.

"Awr-rowr."

It was a relatively quiet moment in the restaurant and the couple next to them weren't speaking, so Finch was guarded as he answered, trying to sound patronizing, "Yes, John? Would you like some more?"

"Row-fan-fyoo," Reese replied, making the woman behind him turn around again.

"He just said, 'No, thank you,'" the woman pointed out, rather loudly and unnecessarily, drawing the attention of the three young women with the smaller-breed dogs. "How on _earth_ did you train him to _say_ that?"

"Ah... lots of doggie treats. And patience – lots of patience," Finch said, masking his irritation with a cheesy grin.

"What else can he say?" the man wanted to know.

"Oh, just a few words and phrases," Finch responded against his will, inwardly fuming that Reese had gotten him into this situation. "He can say 'I need to go' and what sounds like 'I'm hungry.'"

"That's amazing! And he uses them at the appropriate times?"

"Yes, he knows what they mean, more or less. Don't you, John?" he added, with the barest hint of a threat in his tone.

Reese lolled his tongue out and smirked at him before getting up to turn around, then sitting on his haunches as close as he could get to Finch on the bench seat. With his forelegs extended, his doggy face was on the same level as Finch's own and easily within striking distance.

"What?" Finch asked, somewhat defensively. "What do you want? More food?"

"Row-fan-fyoo."

"That's _amazing_," one of the young women whispered. All of them were staring at Reese.

"Awr-rowr," he repeated, his laughing eyes fixed on Finch's face.

"Yes? What is it?" Finch asked again, his patience beginning to wear thin.

"Ay-ruffyoo."

There was a split second of dead silence in their corner of the restaurant before all four women – young and old – broke out into a collective "Awwwww! He said, 'I love you'!"

"He's only saying that because he wants something," Finch countered testily, feeling a flush creep up his neck. "What? What do you want?" he demanded of Reese.

In retrospect, Finch realized, he should have known what he was being set up for. Reese leaned in and gave his chin and lips a very thorough – and very wet – lick.

"Ay-ruffyoo," Reese declared again, panting with satisfaction mere inches from Finch's infuriated face.

"John! I've _asked_ you not to do that!" he spluttered, thoroughly grossed out and fumbling with his napkin to wipe the dog slobber from his face. "I'm in the middle of dinner here!"

"Ay-ruffyoo," was Reese's only reply against the backdrop of laughter. "Ay-ruffyoo, Awr-rowr."

Finch gave him a narrow-eyed glare and rose stiffly from his seat. "I'm going to go wash my face off now so I'm not contaminated with any of your _germs_. And I expect my dinner to still be here when I get back, even though it will be cold by then."

"Ay-ruffyoo," Reese said, fixing wide, innocent-looking hound dog eyes on Finch.

"_Stay_," Finch ordered before limping towards the restrooms. Behind him he could hear the women still cooing over the "sweet" and "adorable" dog, as well as Reese's voice sadly whining his loneliness.

"Awr-rowr? Awr-rowr... Ay-ruffyoo... Ay-ruffyoo..."

* * *

A/N: RL has been a bit hectic, but I haven't forgotten this fic! Your patience is appreciated... ^_^;


	10. Chapter 10

Wolfhound

* * *

Despite his irritation at Reese, Finch could not stay angry with him when he came back to the booth and found the great dog lying with its head on its paws, the picture of abject misery. Reese looked up at him, giving him the best, most expressive pair of dog eyes ever known, making Finch sigh aloud.

"All right – you're forgiven. Just mind your manners, please, if you don't want to be relegated to the dog house tonight."

"Ay-ruffyoo, Awr-rowr," Reese responded, suddenly unabashed, his tail thumping against the seat as Finch sat down. "Ay-ruffyoo!"

"So you say," Finch muttered, picking up his silverware.

"Ay-ruffyoo."

"Oh, my God!" the waitress exclaimed. She had just come by to check on her customers and, upon hearing Reese, nearly dropped the pot of coffee. "Did he just say 'I love you'?"

"Ah... yes. It's one of his favorite phrases," Finch told her, shooting Reese a testy glance. "His previous owners must have given him treats every time he said it."

"Awr-rowr," Reese put in, thoroughly disregarding Finch's warning. "Ay-ruffyoo, Awr-rowr!"

"What does 'Ar-ror' mean?" the waitress asked, fascinated.

"Uh... that's my name... Harold," Finch grudgingly answered.

"Awww, that's so sweet! What a lover!"

Looking very pleased with himself, Reese grinned and repeated, "Ay-ruffyoo, Awr-rowr!"

"Awww..."

"Ay-ruffyoo. Awr-rowr, Ay-ruffyoo."

Finch was chewing on a bite of cold steak, trying to ignore Reese's performance, but he realized that the waitress was looking at _him_, not the dog.

"Well?" she prodded with a knowing smile. "Aren't you going to say it back?"

"I beg your pardon?" Finch replied, nonplussed.

"He's waiting for you to say it back, isn't he? He's looking at you like he's waiting for something..."

Finch turned to look at Reese and found his big, furry face staring right back at him expectantly. With a heavy sigh, Finch conceded defeat.

"I love you, too, John."

"Owrrr... Awr-rowr... Ayyy ruff yooo!"

The sappy grin and lolling tongue were almost more than Finch could stomach but, now satisfied, Reese lay down and rested his heavy head on Finch's lap.

"Can I warm that up for you?" the waitress asked, indicating Finch's dinner.

"Ah... that would be nice," Finch answered. Once she had removed his plate, however, there was nothing for him to do besides sip his wine.

"Ay-ruffyoo," came a soft, purr-like whisper from below.

"What do you want now?" Finch grumbled. In response, Reese rolled over onto his back until his forepaws were dangling in mid-air, exposing his chest and the underside of his neck and jaw. Finch fixed him with a hard stare although it was difficult to keep his expression stern when Reese's ears were flapped open on his lap, giving his upturned dog face a ridiculous look. "Belly rubs? _Really_, Mr. Reese?"

Reese made a high-pitched whine, almost a whistling noise through his nose, and gave Finch his best puppy-dog eyes again. With a groan of resignation Finch placed his left hand on the furry chest and began scratching.

"I should take this out of your salary... charge you for services rendered above and beyond the normal call of duty," Finch groused. However, there was a sort of therapeutic satisfaction in finding spots on the dog's body that made Reese whimper and moan in helpless pleasure. Scratching under the chin made those large paws twitch involuntarily, which did bring a wry smile to Finch's face. In fact, he was so engrossed that he didn't realize the waitress had returned until she spoke.

"Awww, he's just a big baby, isn't he? Just a big, furry ball of love... Yes, you are!" she cooed at Reese when he opened his eyes. "I asked the kitchen to give you a fresh serving of vegetables, so if you have any leftovers, I can box it up for you."

"Thank you," Finch said, sincerely surprised at the level of service and mentally increasing the percentage of her tip.

"Fanfyoo," Reese echoed dreamily from Finch's lap.

* * *

When they returned to the library, Reese dutifully helped Finch review the videos recorded from the surveillance cameras around Nadege Mawon's neighborhood, but there was no sign that the Voodoo priestess had left the area since visiting her nephew that afternoon.

"Well... I suppose that's that," Finch concluded when they were caught up to the present.

"Woof," Reese agreed, then plodded off to another room, returning a minute later with one of the blankets Finch kept in a closet. Before Finch could ask him what it was for, Reese dropped it onto the floor by the window, right by the heater outlet, and began spreading it out carefully with his paws. Finch realized that he was making a bed of sorts – a doggie bed.

"John... you're not planning on... staying here overnight, are you?" Finch asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Wherr _elf_-fan-Ay-fay?" ["Where _else_ can I stay?"] Reese said rather pointedly.

Finch contemplated the large beast before him with a sinking feeling. While he wasn't worried that Reese might damage things like a normal canine might when left alone for a long time, he wasn't thrilled at the thought of leaving him to snoop around for hours on end, either. At least, that was what he told himself, although he also realized (though he hardly wanted to admit it, even to himself) that he would have a hard time resting in the comforts of his own home, knowing that Reese was lying on a blanket on a cold, hard floor. Heaving a deep sigh, Finch decided on a compromise of sorts.

"All right... We can stay in one of the safe houses. There's one in particular that I'm thinking of – one you haven't been to yet. I believe the building allows pets so it shouldn't be a problem..."

While Finch double-checked on the computer to make sure, Reese finished arranging the blanket and lay down, gnawing on his new chew toy as Finch called his driver and informed him that he had a canine companion tonight.

"An old friend's request – I couldn't bear to tell him no," Finch explained. "It's quite a large dog, but he's assured me that it's well behaved," he added, raising his eyebrows for Reese's benefit. Reese looked back at him innocently. "Thank you, yes. We'll be there in about ten minutes as well."

* * *

The spacious interior of the limousine felt somewhat crowded, in a way that it hadn't when Reese (in his human form) had been sandwiched between Finch's two bodyguards, as Reese (in his dog form) tried to find a comfortable position. He ended up half-sitting on the floor, half-sprawled across Finch's lap on the seat. Once the vehicle pulled away from the curb, Finch placed his hand without thinking on Reese's flank.

"Ay-ruffyoo," Reese declared, smiling.

"Oh... hush!" Finch said, struggling to scowl.

"Ay-reery roo," Reese insisted. "Iff-fifferen, reein-ah-roff. Effryfin iff mowr... infenf." ["I really do. It's different, being a dog. Everything is more... intense."]

"I see," Finch replied dryly, scratching behind Reese's ears. "Just don't start... piddling for joy, every time you see me."

"Awr-rye-roo reffreyn rye-felf," ["I'll try to restrain myself."] Reese murmured with a happy sigh.

* * *

After getting out of the car at a busy intersection, Finch led Reese to an older but well-kept apartment building, where the doorman seemed to recognize Finch but was clearly astonished to see a dog of such stature accompanying him. However, he opened the door for them without question. Finch entered the elevator and pressed the button for the basement, which came as a surprise to Reese.

"Rof-fa-fen-fawf?" ["Not the penthouse?"] he asked.

"No. Not in this particular case," was all Finch said, allowing a slightly mysterious smile to play on his lips.

They went through several narrow corridors in the basement until they came to a battered door that looked as though it led to a utility room. Reese saw immediately that it had an electronic lock system with deadbolts hidden in the jamb, which Finch released by inserting a key card. Inside, it looked like an ordinary storage room, piled high with dusty boxes, but Finch led him around the maze of boxes to a hidden section of the wall where there was another elevator. Reese's doggy jaw dropped a bit as they entered it, for there were over a dozen more buttons, all lower than their current floor.

"This was built as a bomb shelter back in the 1940s by a very wealthy man," Finch explained after punching the button that was second from the bottom. "I do hope you're not claustrophobic, since we will be quite deep underground – lower than the subway system, in fact – but I think you'll find the rooms spacious enough to relax in. Apparently, the gentleman was concerned about the effects of a nuclear fallout and had the construction workers dig all the way to the bedrock. The bottommost floor is actually on the exposed bedrock, but I only use it for storing wines and such."

When the elevator finally came to a halt, Reese cast a glance up at Finch before watching the doors slide open.


	11. Chapter 11

Wolfhound

* * *

Finch flipped a switch and the apartment was filled with the warm glow of incandescent light bulbs. Reese followed him into the corridor, leaving swirls of chilly air in the wake of his wagging tail as he used both sight and smell to take in his new surroundings. The walls between the rooms were thick, like what could be expected in an underground bunker or a catacomb, but their surfaces were whitewashed and clean, reflecting the light to give the windowless space a brighter feeling, and decorated with original paintings set in gilt frames. The furnishings were opulent but looked comfortable, with soft leather seats and intricately carved wood that spoke of wealth and elegance. The round thermostat dial that Finch turned up was also from a bygone era, but Reese could hear the furnace in an adjacent room respond immediately.

"It shouldn't take long to get the place warmed up," Finch told him as he made his way into the kitchen. "I'm going to make myself a cup of tea... Can I get you anything?"

"Row-fanf," ["No, thanks."] Reese replied and continued exploring. As he wandered into the living room he noticed that all of the ceilings were domed and the doorways were arched, reminiscent of a Mediterranean villa. He inspected the couch and, satisfied that it was large enough to accommodate him, loped past a wall lined with bookshelves to a cabinet that smelled strangely of new plastic. Nosing the door, he realized that it was a magnetic catch, which he pressed to open. He let out an appreciative moan when he saw what lay inside.

"I see you've found the TV," Finch said with a wry smile as he removed his coat and placed it on an antique hat rack. "I just brought it down last month, in case you're ever laid up again with a work-related injury. This place has several entrances, so we can hole up in here for a long time without anyone ever noticing. Although," he admitted, as an afterthought, "I don't suppose you'll be able to navigate a ladder in your... current condition."

He went on to describe each exit: the laddered chute that led straight up to the sewer system; the spiral staircase connected to another locked utility room in the regular basement and which served as a back-up ventilation system; the tunnel from a few floors above that led to a hidden room in a building on the other side of the block; a branch of that tunnel which merged into a subway station side track access corridor; and yet another passage that wound up a system of stairs and tunnels until it deposited the traveler in a small enclave of another building, which opened onto an alley behind a restaurant.

"That one will probably be the easiest for you to navigate," Finch concluded and took a sip of his tea. "There are no streetlights or cameras in that alley, either, although the dumpsters are rather... odiferous. But that's the least of our concerns, I suppose... At night it would be easy to slip in and out without being seen at all."

Reese had made himself at home, waiting until Finch had sat at one end of the couch with his tea before sprawling out beside him. Even lying down on his stomach, Reese's head was almost on the same level as Finch's, his breath catching the man right in the face and making him grimace.

"Speaking of slipping in and out..." Finch mumbled, setting his teacup down and pulling out a keyboard from a compartment in the coffee table. "Let's see if Ms. Mawon has been up to anything..."

The keyboard was linked wirelessly to a computer that used the big flat-screen TV as its monitor, and in a few minutes Finch had hacked into the surveillance feeds around the Voodoo priestess's neighborhood again. Rewinding the footage to when they had left the library, they could not find any unusual activity, so Finch relegated the current feeds to smaller screens along the side of the TV.

"What was the title of that movie you mentioned? 'Weekend at...' was it Benny's?"

"Rerr-neef," Reese corrected, though not very helpfully.

Finch scrolled through the list of movies available on his service and found it. "Ah! Here it is, 'Weekend at Bernie's.' You did recommend watching the first one first, right?"

Finch relaxed as they watched the comedy film, even taking off his shoes and putting his feet up on an ottoman, and Reese lounged across his three-quarters of the couch, resting his head again on Finch's thigh.

"You really are becoming insufferable," Finch remarked mildly, his hand stroking Reese's fur out of habit already. Reese grinned up at him, rewarded when the man realized what he was doing and glanced down at him in chagrin.

"Well... I always _did_ want a dog..." he muttered, "although I was thinking more along the lines of a... Collie. Like Lassie, you know."

Reese snorted in disdain.

"They're very intelligent," Finch countered. "And obedient. _Very_ obedient."

Reese rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the movie, whiffling every so often at a particularly funny scene, and Finch found himself chuckling out loud several times as well.

* * *

When the credits began to roll, Reese got off the couch, yawned, and luxuriously stretched his long limbs. Finch turned off the TV and stood up slowly, expecting his hip to be stiff after sitting in the same position for so long, but was surprised when he was able to move it without much pain. He realized that the warmth of Reese's body pressed against that hip must have helped keep it limber, but he decided not to mention it for fear Reese would use it as an excuse to drape his shaggy self all over him – especially since he hardly needed one as it was.

"Well, I suppose we should figure out our sleeping arrangements," Finch began. "You're welcome to use this couch, but there are several bedrooms and you're welcome to any of them as well. Let me unlock them so you can see..."

Reese peered into each of them as Finch opened the doors and turned on the lights. Every room was decorated in a different color scheme, with large paintings of landscapes or seascapes framed by curtains to give the illusion of windows. There were a total of eight bedrooms but Finch didn't open the one closest to the living room until he had shown Reese all of the others, and then only because Reese sat down in front of that door and looked up at him expectantly.

"Yes, this is the master bedroom, and it has the biggest bed," he admitted as he unlocked and opened it. Reese moved past him like a shot, jumping onto the bed in one bound before sprawling on his back with all four paws waving in the air as he wriggled to get comfortable.

"This is usually _my_ bedroom, Mr. Reese," Finch stiffly informed him.

"Ay-row," ["I know."] Reese replied, gazing at him with his head upside-down. "Ay-fan frerr rowr rowrown in-eer. Ruff-ferf-frenfy off-froom." ["I can smell your cologne in here. But there's plenty of room."] He rolled over and sat up on the far side of the bed. "Fee? Frenfy off frafe, for-rowf-off-uff." ["See? Plenty of space, for both of us."]

"You're not serious, are you? You don't expect me to... get into the same _bed_ with a... a _dog_..."

Finch's voice trailed off as Reese pawed at the covers to peel them back, then patted the spot beside him invitingly.

"Ay-rown-rayf, Awr-rowr – Ay fromiff." ["I won't bite, Harold – I promise."]

"Fine," Finch declared when he had regained his voice. "You can have this bed; I'll just move my things to one of the other rooms..."

"Awr-rowr!" Reese protested. "Ay-riff-ranna feef-yoo _warm!_ Iff rowr in-eer." ["Harold! I just wanna keep you _warm!_ It's cold in here."] He jumped off the bed and approached Finch, looking up at him with his expressive eyes, the bushy eyebrows drawn together to plead his case. "Ay-rown-rurf-yoo. Ay-wur-reffer rurf yoo." ["I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you."]

Finch found himself at a loss for words for another long moment, during which Reese continued to hold his gaze with an earnestness seldom seen in the former operative when not engaged in a case. Finally, Finch relented.

"All right, then... I suppose it's pointless to argue with you." Finch heaved a deep sigh and shrugged. "I'm going to go shower now. You might as well make yourself at home."

"Fanf, Awr-rowr," Reese said softly. "Roo-rown rerref-iff." ["Thanks, Harold. You won't regret it."]


	12. Chapter 12

Wolfhound

* * *

Finch drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, deliberately, forcing his body to relax under the hot spray of the shower. It had been a trying day. "_And it's not every day that you find your best friend turned into a dog_," he mused with sardonic irony. "_I have to remember, this must be exponentially harder for John... No matter how annoying or demanding he might become, I need to be patient with him, bearing in mind that _he's_ the one who actually has to deal with being a dog..._"

His resolve was tested almost immediately, however, when after a burst of scratching noises the bathroom door was opened. Finch pulled back the shower curtain just enough to peer out.

"John! I would like some privacy here."

"Fow-woof-Ai," ["So would I."] Reese retorted before trotting over to the toilet and managing to lift both the lid and the seat with his nose. "Ai-raffoo fayfa-funf." ["I have to take a dump."]

Finch stifled a sigh as he closed the curtain, reminding himself yet again how much harder this whole situation must be for Reese. He heard a string of heavy plops, audible even over the noise of the shower, and though they did little to lighten his mood, they did make him realize he was lucky that Reese was at least a housebroken dog – one who could even use the toilet so Finch did not have to follow him around with a shovel and a plastic bag.

"Ray, Awr-rowr?" ["Hey, Harold?"] Reese said, nosing the curtain aside and startling Finch into a yelp as he found the huge, shaggy dog-face mere inches from his family jewels.

"Will you _please_ keep that nose of yours out of... out of my personal space!" Finch demanded, scrambling to cover his crotch with his washcloth.

"Row-reeffooree fow-moffeff, Awr-rowr – rooraff _ferry_ rife-rerriffmenf," ["No need to be so modest, Harold – you have _very_ nice equipment."] Reese responded, licking his chops as though contemplating a juicy steak. "Roorow Arra-roo'riffer, rownroo?" ["You know I'm a good licker, don't you?"]

"Mr. _Reese!_"

"Foof yorfelf," ["Suit yourself,"] he shrugged, "ruff-Ai ruff-ranneffoo-rayfroor roo-woorn-ree-frarreff fen-Ai-fruff." ["but I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't be scalded when I flush."]

"I'll be fine, Mr. Reese," Finch replied, struggling to not fume at Reese's deliberate invasion of his privacy. "Thank you for the warning; I'll just step back out of the stream of water while you flush."

"Owfay, reer-rowf," ["Okay, here goes,"] Reese announced, backing out of the bathtub area to press the toilet lever with one paw. Finch noticed that the shower water did turn significantly hotter for a few seconds as the cold water in the system was diverted. "Rai-ra-ray," ["By the way,"] Reese continued, sticking his head back in before Finch had the chance to close the curtain, "Iffyoo reeffom-rahfer in-fa-fuv, Awrrarf-rai-fawv reffor-reffin-in-rev. Awreefen vrai-rem iffyoo-reef-rowr rowrel on-ra-frowr." ["If you leave some water in the tub, I'll wash my paws before getting in bed. I'll even dry them if you leave your towel on the floor."]

"Yes, of course – thank you for being so considerate," Finch said in a tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'll be sure to draw you a foot bath before I leave. Now: out!"

"Aww, Awr-rowr... roorruffa-froof," ["Aww, Harold... you're such a prude."] Reese grumbled as he left, not bothering to close the door behind him which, since it opened inward to the bathroom, would have been difficult for him to do in his present state anyway. Finch expelled another long breath before finishing his shower. He needed to find a cure for Reese's condition and get him back to his human form – and fast.

* * *

Finch kept a change of clothes – several outfits, in fact – at each of his many safe houses, and tonight as he pulled on a pair of flannel pajamas he made a mental note to purchase clothing in Reese's size and distribute them to several other locations. He could hear his currently four-legged partner splashing around in the bathtub, whether washing or playing with the soap dish he didn't want to know, but he was determined to have Reese turned back into a man. Any other future was simply unacceptable. He could not even bear to think about it.

He took his time settling into his usual side of the bed, getting out at one point to adjust his pillows and put on a pair of socks. The furnace was working quite efficiently for its age but the underground apartment was spacious, even with the unused bedrooms closed off. Reese hadn't been kidding when he'd offered to sleep with Finch to keep him warm in the cold environment; the older man reflected with chagrin that he might be glad to have the large dog in bed with him, after all.

Reese loped out of the bathroom after jumping up to turn off the light switches, then trotted around to the other side of the bed. Finch had already turned off the overhead light, leaving the room illuminated only by the 40-watt bulb in his bedside lamp, which created a dim but warm orange glow. Reese managed to worm his way under the covers without any help and wriggled to get closer to the center – and Finch – for a while before coming to rest against Finch's back.

"Goodnight, John," Finch said, careful to keep his inflection neutral. He neither wanted to offend his partner nor to invite any undue (and unprofessional) attention.

"Roo'rife, Awr-rowr," ["Goodnight, Harold."] Reese whiffled unnervingly close to his ear. After another moment of shifting to get comfortable, Reese curled one paw against Finch's shoulder and placed the other paw gently on his waist. His long hind legs were already pressed against Finch's human ones.

"_All things considered, this isn't too uncomfortable_," Finch thought, feeling the warmth of Reese's hotter canine circulation where their bodies touched. "_It's been so long since I spooned with anyone_..."

For a few seconds he allowed himself to linger on thoughts of Grace, on the life he had left behind and the loneliness of living in a series of safe houses, none of which were home even though he owned all of the properties. As his eyes closed with exhaustion, he mentally scolded himself that such loneliness was nothing compared to the guilt of knowing he had caused the death of an innocent bystander, let alone someone dear to him.

"_Besides, I have Reese to keep me company now – even if he can be a tad... _difficult_ at times_..."

A smile curled his lips before he could stop it. Reese literally had his back at the moment and, although he smelled faintly of wet dog, there was no mistaking the protectiveness and caring in the one paw laid on Finch's midsection. Reese might be many things – a rugged soldier, a capable operative, even a trained assassin – but he was also a compassionate human being. Well, when he wasn't a dog, at any rate. And Finch trusted him. For all of his teasing and bantering, Reese was always deadly serious when it came to their work and fiercely protective of his "assets" as he called his friends.

Lulled by such comforting thoughts, Finch was almost asleep when he felt something warm touch the back of his neck, just below his hairline. It was only a brief contact and he could not be certain that he had actually felt it, so he allowed his eyes to close again, his breathing already slowing. But when the warmth touched his nape once more, he realized that it was not only warm but also _wet_ since the cool air of the room wafted against it, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Reese! Did you just _lick_ me?" Finch demanded, his face scrunching in disgust.

"Farry. Ai-foorn rerf-iff," ["Sorry, I couldn't help it."] came Reese's remorseful voice. "Arrimor-inffinff. Roo-rayf-roof." ["Animal instincts. You taste good."]

"You're not feeling any urges to _eat_ me, are you?"

"Row! Offorf-noff. Ruff-ranna riffyoo. Ai-finf iff-roar rowrown." ["No! Of course not. Just wanna lick you. I think it's your cologne."]

"I'm not wearing any cologne."

"Roh. Muffee-roar arrimor maffnefivm, ven." ["Oh. Must be your animal magnetism, then."]

Finch did not stifle his sigh. "I suppose I should be thankful that you haven't lost your human intellect _completely_, or you might be licking my face right now."

"Iff-Ai-roff-rai rooman inferreff, Awr-roar, Arree rumfinyoo infoora-rev raifrow." ["If I lost my human intellect, Harold, I'd be **CENSORED** you into the bed right now."] Reese replied.

Finch felt another shudder travel down his spine, although this one had nothing to do with the cold.

"Please try to hold on to your sanity, Mr. Reese," he said stiffly, trying not to let the animal at his back sense that his voice was not the only thing which had grown stiff from the mental image elicited by that last remark. "And please keep your tongue to yourself."

"Awr-frai," Reese responded in a dubious tone, "ruff arrimor urveff-arr-arf-foo reffiff." ["I'll try, but animal urges are hard to resist."]

"Good_night_, Mr. Reese," Finch declared with another deep, disgruntled sigh.

"Roo'rife, Awr-rowr," ["Goodnight, Harold."] Reese said, then added in a whisper, "Ai-ruffyoo."

Finch thought his heart might have stopped for a minute. When he finally spoke, it was in a much kinder, gentler tone and with a much different attitude.

"I love you, too, John."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Somewhere along the way I lost my game. :( I also had to go back and correct some of the spellings for Dog which I'd transliterated inconsistently. I'm still not quite happy with it but oh well... :P


End file.
